


So scared of breaking it you won't let it bend

by Lebellerose



Category: The Voice (US) RPF, The Voice RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Depression, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-15
Updated: 2018-01-13
Packaged: 2019-03-04 11:22:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13363668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lebellerose/pseuds/Lebellerose
Summary: They say he's a bad actor. But is it so when he always succeeds in deceiving everyone? Adam has played this part long enough he knows he can't scape his fate. Or can he?





	So scared of breaking it you won't let it bend

**Author's Note:**

> Well, would you look at that, another WIP. At least I have an outline for this. Anyway, angsty times ahead, folks. Enjoy :)!  
> P.S.: comments fuel the holy fire of updates.

   November, 2010

 

   Adam jolts awake to find himself drooling over his notebook, his body contorted into a very unnatural position on his favorite-if too small to serve him as a sleeping spot- couch. The nightmare feels too vivid still, even if its details are slowly trickling away from his head with every second that passes.

 

   Just as suddenly his phone rings on the coffee table, and Adam pushes past his discomfort and sluggishness to right himself. He picks up the device in the nick of time.

 

   It's his manager. The man reminds him today is the appointment with the NBC executives plus the other coaches of The Voice, and says he's coming to fetch Adam in fifteen minutes so he better be ready. Soon as he's delivered this message, his manager ends the call.

 

   Adam groans. He'd completely forgotten about today's plans. With as much food as he has on his place right now-not to mention it  _is_ fucking late November-he should be forgiven for not remembering every little thing in his schedule. That's all. He definitely isn't nervous or anything. What a presposterous idea.

 

   Well, gotta face the music, he guesses. He rises to his feet, sore muscles protesting with each movement. It's not that bad, though the crink in his neck will likely bother him the whole day. He idly wipes the saliva from his face, letting his mind blank for a second. Pity he doesn't have time for morning meditation. Adam sighs, taking hold of his notebook and tearing off the spoiled page. The piece of wet paper is unceremoniously crumpled up to then be thrown in the trash can. It was useless anyway.

 

   While he takes a quick shower, Adam ponders on the discussion the band had about this show deal with NBC. James was the most openly excited, believing this would be good advertisement for them. Of course the guitarist is a ball of optimism, so no surprise there. On the hand Jesse, ever the cautious one, wondered if participating on The Voice would hurt their image when push came to shove. Music contests are often looked at with condescension, no matter their quality or how many stars they churn out. Mickey was team Jesse-if a little more willing to see the positive side-, and Matt joined in James' enthuthuiasm. This left Adam with the decisive vote.

 

   Adam turns off the tap, another sigh scaping his thoat. He wishes he could decline the job offer. But the reality is Maroon 5's last album hasn't been performing as expected and their label is quite unhappy about it. So he had to accept.

 

   Wrapped in a fluffy green towel he pads into the bedroom and starts rummaging inside his wardrobe. Formal wear is not required for the ocassion, which is a godsend to Adam. Heaven knows he needs the comfort of his favorite skinny jeans, trusty combat boots and the most worn out white tee he possesses-he always asks himself how people would react were they to realize the fabric isn't artificially aged but just old-. Today promises to be pretty stressful.

 

   Right as he's finishing to tie the laces of his boots, his phone rings again. It is his manager once more, telling him to get his ass out of the house and into the car immediately. They are already late.

 

*    *     *     *     *     *

 

   In an unusual respite from Adam's perpetually lowsy luck, when he and his manager arrive to the meeting room some eighteen minutes after the appointed hour, only one of the superstar coaches is present. The NBC suit currently doing the briefing tells them to sit in passing and continues her speech. Adam rapidly complies with the request, choosing the seat nearest to him, which has him facing his future colleague.

 

   Blake Shelton is someone he never expected to see in person. First of all they live in cities separated by at least two thousand miles, literally on opposite ends of the country. Secondly, they give off starkly different vibes, that means they probably don't share interests or frequent the same circles; therefore the chances of their paths crossing are almost null. Or they were supposed to be.

 

   Because now Adam is staring straight at the tall man's blue eyes, however much he'd rather not to. It is ever so uncomfortable to meet one fo the artists he's ghostwritten for. He feels wrong, a dirty secret shamelessly parading around in the light. What is even worse, many times the musician/s in question leer at him or regard him with disapproval, thinking him below their sphere. Adam understands such reactions-deep down knows he deserves them too-for he's done nothing but feed into his vapid popstar persona. Still, he is only human and the open animosity bites.

 

   Right this moment Blake is keeping a neutral expression, a non-commital smile on his lips. Adam doesn't know whether to be relieved the man apparently isn't like the rest or anxiously wait for the other shoe to drop. Instead, he tries to focus on what the NBC suit is saying.

 

   A matter of ten minutes later the two last coaches arrive together, their agents in tow. Cee lo Green, who is sporting a frankly garish violet suede tracksuit, helps the one and only Christina Aguilera to her chair before adressing a few words of apology to them all for his tardiness. The guy's deep, smoky voice makes Adam feel  more at ease;  a good sing for their future working relationship. On the contrary, when Christina offers her apologies, he has an inkling they are going to butt heads. It is something about her demeanor, something is sharp about the way she watches everyone else. Not to mention she is rumored to be a bit "difficult". Granted, Adam knows better than to trust the bullshit tabloids mean to pass as facts. He's read plenty fantastical tales about himself, for fucks sake. Maybe he is simply intimidated by Christina's status as the voice of a generation, by her-unlike his- very real confidence in her vocal prowess.

 

   Or perhaps, now that the diva is chancing a glance at him and quickly turning her head away as if she just stared at a speck of dust on her path; perhaps his first impression wasn't totally incorrect. Same old, same old here, it seems. Just what he was hoping against before, another artist he's written for that dismisses him at first sight. In the past he used to struggle to control the urge of showing his hurt; he wanted so badly to argue in his favor. Luckily, he never displayed such unprofessional behavior, and over the years he's become adept at at manouvering these situations. Thus Adam's response to Christina is a generic polite grin the woman bypasses mercilessly. He sighs yet again. Off to a great start, huh?

 

*   *    *    *    *    *

 

   A long hour and a half later, the meeting draws to a close.

 

   "It'll be a pleasure to work with you. Have a happy end of the year, I'll see everybody on January", Mark Burnett, the showrunner, says as a farewell.

 

   The first person to leave is Christina, walking at a remarkably faster pace than you'd expect for someone wearing five inch pumps; and tailed by her weary looking manager.

 

   Adam is distracted enough by the woman's hurried exit he get's startled when a hand pats his shoulder.

 

   "Hey there, brother. Nice to finally meet you", Cee lo says good-naturedly.

 

   "It's an honor", Adam replies tongue in cheek, shaking the hand that's offered to him.

 

   For all that they often attend the same events, the same parties, they haven't had a proper introduction until now.

 

   "Figure this'll last?" Cee lo asks teasingly; to the chagrin of both their managers, who are conversing a polite distance away from them. The smartly dressed men hide it well, as any professional worth their salt, but they naturally wish to avoid an early confrontation with the people of the show, especially with all the NBC executives and staff not yet out of the room.

 

   "Idol's still kicking, right?" Adam shrugs, the barest hint of a grin curling his upper lip.

 

   Cee lo chuckles; and is on the verge of answering when someone interrupts him.

 

   "For now", Blake jokes as he approaches. The guy is dressed in that incredibly specific manner male country artists usually do; jeans, plaid shirt, a schrodinger undershirt-the odds of it being there are 50/50, Adam's found-, and well worn cowboy boots. Adam'd feel tempted to laugh if he wasn't so nervous.

 

   "I'm Blake", the man says extending his hand to Cee lo first.

 

   "Cee lo".

 

   Next is his turn.

 

   "Adam".

 

   Blake's hand is bigger than his, calloused because of playing, and just this side of uncomfortably warm. Their contact is too brief for Adam, burning with disinterest. Like the man's eyes, which focus on Cee lo from then on. Once more an expectator, an outsider, he watches his fellow coaches talk amicably, making sure he nods in the right places. What did he expect, honestly?

 

*   *    *    *   *    *

 

   It's late in the night when Adam comes back home. Any normal evening he would give Charlie a copious ration of food to compensate for his lateness, reheat the leftovers of yesterday's dinner, and get to work. Instead he finds Michael waiting for him in the kitchen, fingers typing furiously on his phone.

 

   "Hi", his brother greets him, gaze fixed on the screen before him, "I already fed Charlie".

 

   "Thanks. What are you doing here?"

 

   Michael's attention is instantly diverted to him by these words.

 

   "Can't I visit my big bro from time to time?"

 

   "Save me the runarounds, Michael. What is it now?" Adam sighs. He loves his little brother, he really does. Unfortunately his sibling is always coming to him with trouble.

 

   "I'm sorry", Michael winces, sheepish.

 

   "Don't be. Just tell me".

 

   Michael shifts on his chair and gestures for him to sit too.

 

   "Tom and I had a fight. I'm thinking of dumping him".

 

   "Why? Last I saw you two, you were all lovey dovey and shit".

 

   "That's the problem", Micahel huffs, "He's become super clingy and you know  I hate clingy".

 

   Adam does, good god, he does. His brother is an extremely independent man, so he considers overly attached boyfriends-or people in general-the enemy.

 

   "We went to the club on Tuesday. Can you believe the jerk made a scene in the middle of the dancefloor 'cause some rando was flirting with me?!" Michael throws his arms up in frustration.

 

   Yup, Adam can picture quite clearly how that turned out.

 

   "So I kicked Tom in the balls, told him to call when he's cooled down".

 

   "I assume he hasn't yet", Adam comments.

 

   "Duh", Michael rolls his eyes. "If he won't trust me there's no point in dating".

 

   "Michael..." he starts.

 

   "No Adam, listen. I'm not being complicated here. I'm setting limits, damnit", Michael says exasperated. Next he proceeds to stand up and grab a beer bottle from the fridge.

 

   "Was it mom?"

 

   "Eh?"

 

   "Of course, I should've known", Adam shakes his head, "She seems to think you're a bit..flighty".

 

  "At one point I was scared she was gonna lecture me about STD's", his brother groans after having a swig of his drink.

 

   "You're exagerating. She wouldn't do that".

 

   Not to you, Adam purposefully omits.

 

   "She was close, I could feel it", Michael insists, however a mischievous grin settles on his mien.

 

   "Sit down, you drama llama. I'll fix us something to eat", he orders with a snort.

 

  "Aye, aye, captain!" Michael shouts gleefuly as he gets out of the way. Attracted by the ruckus, Charlie enters the kitchen, barking happily at Adam and licking his hands.

 

   "Hello girl. How was your day?" He says as he pets her.

 

   Charlie answers his questions with a joyful bark. He scratches behind her ears and she melts under his caresses. Soon her body slides to the floor and Adam is rubbing her belly.

 

   "I see Charlie's got you occupied big bro, want me to cook dinner?"

 

   "NO".

 

   "But..."

 

   "Thanksgiving, 2008", Adam reminds him. Although he doubts Michael can easily forget setting fire to their mother's stove; even if the world could, their mother would not let him in this lifetime.

 

   "It was an accident", Michael argues.

 

   He raises an eyebrow. His little brother's culinary skills have been lacking since forever, meaning most of what the guy makes somehow gets burnt. It's an absolute mystery. Following a recipe doesn't appear to help, for the food inevitably ends up at least a bit charred.

 

   "Fine, suit yourself", Michael grumbles, crossing his arms and looking away.

 

   Adam sniggers at his brother's sullen form while he instructs Charlie to lay down to the side so he can begin working on the meal. He decides to make a stew and, after carefully washing his hands, picks the ingredients needed from his pantry and fridge.

 

   "Do you think that too? That I have commitment issues?" Michael asks ruefully as he watches Adam peel potatoes.

 

   He stills a second, pondering his reply.

 

   "Maybe. For better or worse you do _love_ your freedom".

 

   Micahel's face falls and Adam continues with a wry smile.

 

   "Personally, I wouldn't trust my single ass' advice on relationships".

 

   This cheeky comment has Michael chuckling, good humor returned to his eyes.

 

   "Thanks, Adam", his brother says once his laugh's died down.

 

   "No problem. You're free to stay 'till you figure things out".

 

   "Shall I move in then?" Michael jibes.

 

   "Don't push it", Adam playfully warns, feeling keenly the tiredness of the day coursing through his body.

 

  

  

  

 

   


End file.
